In which John Rieler fails to finish his great speech, and Clarence is seriously frightened.

There were, as the two boats came together, shouts and joyous cries and a quick interchange of crews. Dora was in the arms of father and mother. Laughter and tears—the tears of strong emotion—were intermingled with incoherent sobs. Feelings were beyond the power of human language.

It was then, in the midst of all this, that Master John Rieler, filled with an enthusiasm which could no longer be bottled up, mounted the prow of the boat, of which he had that day been the happy engineer, and raising his cap aloft, bellowed at the top of his voice:

“Three cheers for——” But John did not finish this splendid sentence, and to this day no one knows for whom he intended the signal honor; for, happening to wave his cap wildly with these opening words, he lost his balance, and plumped into the water.

“Oh!” cried Mr. Benton, pulling off his coat.

“Stay where you are,” called the grinning Rector. “Don’t hurt Rieler’s feelings. To go to his help would be less sensible than carrying coals to Newcastle.”

John rose just then, and, shaking his locks, smiled graciously at the crews of the two boats.

“We don’t want you,” said the Rector.

“Thank you, Father,” John made grateful answer, and once more sank for a long, delicious dive. And thus did the youth continue to disport himself while huggings were renewed and Babel continued beside him.

“But, Father,” said Will Benton, “what I can’t understand is this! Dora was lost; after two weeks her body was recovered and she was buried in her coffin from our church.”

“You saw the coffin, Will?”

“Yes, Father.”

“But did you see Dora in it?”

“No, Father; you told us she was disfigured and bloated from being so long in the water; and you said we were not to see her.”

“Exactly. The facts are these: On one day, fourteen bodies of the flood victims were recovered. Very soon all were identified except that of a girl dressed in a white dress with a blue sash. I went to view the body, and really couldn’t make up my mind whether it was Dora’s, or not. Everybody insisted that it must be Dora. In the meantime, your mother was so broken-hearted by anxiety that it looked as if she would lose her mind. It occurred to me that even the recovery of the body and the Holy Mass over it would set her at rest, so I took the benefit of the doubt, and allowed the corpse in white and blue to be buried as though it were Dora’s. But mind, I never said it was Dora. I allowed the others to do that without contradicting them; and also my intention in having that Mass offered was that if Dora were alive, the Mass should go to the poor abandoned child who took her place.”

“Do you see,” said Dora, “how good our Blessed Mother is? That little girl because she was in blue and white got a Mass and Christian burial.”

“Hey, John Rieler,” called the Rector fifteen minutes later, “haven’t you had enough swimming yet?”

“If it’s all the same to you, Father Rector, I’d like to swim home.” John, while disporting in the water, had taken off his shoes and thoughtfully aimed them at the head of the admiring and envious Clarence.

“It isn’t all the same to me,” responded the Rector. “Here, give me your hand. Now suppose we start.”

And as they spun homeward, Dora told her wondering parents the tale of four months on the open road.

“And,” concluded the child, “when I think of dear Ben, who died a saint, and of Dorcas and her children, who join the Church tomorrow, and of Clarence who is going to join——”

“You bet I am,” Clarence broke in from the other boat.

“I can’t say that I am sorry.”

“To those who love God all things work together unto good,” quoted Father Keenan.

“And when I recall,” said Mr. Benton catching Dora by the arms and beaming with joy and gratitude as he looked upon her radiant face, “how four months ago, you were pale, anaemic, and sentenced by the doctor to death within a few months——”

“What!” gasped Will.

“Yes; sentenced to death. The doctor said the child had no sort of constitution.”

“That doctor was loony,” said Rieler indignantly. “You ought to see her run. Those fawns you read about in poetry books haven’t anything on her.”

&ldqu............